(My father could be quite cruel with some of his comments when I was growing up. Despite not being in great shape himself, his biggest issue was the food we ate. Being typical kids, we liked unhealthy snacks, and each time we ate them my dad would start ranting about being unhealthy and making quite rude comments. Recently, my mother has told him off a few times for being meaner than usual. One year, we go on holiday from the UK to the US to visit some family friends. A couple of times during the journey, we eat at fast food places, and my father begins griping about how much “crap” we are eating. He’s especially tough on me, the youngest, and seems convinced that I’m going to become massive, which doesn’t help. After a couple of days with our friends, their parents announce we are getting take-out for dinner and ask the kids what they would like. We all respond that we want pizza. When it arrives, we all go to the table and excitedly await a slice. However, instead of a slice, my father puts a white carton on my plate. Confused, I open it and find it’s full of stir-fry vegetables which I certainly I didn’t order.)

Me: “Dad, this isn’t mine!”

(My dad shoots me a blank stare:)

Dad: “Eat your dinner, please.”

Me: “But Dad, I didn’t order stir fry!”

Dad: “Eat what you are given, now!”

Me: “BUT I WANTED PIZZA! WHY DOES EVERYONE ELSE GET TO EAT IT?”

Dad: *angry* “I DON’T CARE! YOU’RE GETTING FAT, AND I WON’T HAVE MY SON BECOME A TUBBY PUDDING! NOW, EAT UP AND SHUT UP!”

(After he finishes his rant, there is a tense silence in the air. All around the table, everyone, including our hosts, are giving him very dirty looks. Immediately, my dad looks sheepish.)

Dad: “Umm… I was just worried about what he was eating… That’s all.”

(He quickly sits down and reaches for the pizza box. To my surprise, my mum slams the box shut and picks up the stir fry carton. She then dumps half the contents on his plate.)

Dad: “WHAT ARE YOU DOING? I’m trying to eat!”

Mum: “You’ve gotten fat, and I won’t have my husband become a tubby pudding! Now, eat your dinner!”

Dad: “This isn’t fair!”

(My mum gives him a nasty look.)

Mum: “EAT UP AND SHUT UP!”

(People at the table giggled at this one, and my father looked furious but had to bite his tongue hard. After dinner, my dad tried to tell my mother off, but she loudly berated him for his “bullying tactics” and scolded him for being so mean to his children, especially when he was also eating the same amount of garbage we were! Thankfully, my father seemed to take the hint and became less controlling as the years went along. He could still be a difficult character, but the old mean-spirited man seemed to die out. His attitude apparently didn’t impress their friends, since we were never invited to visit again! As a father myself now, I understand the importance of children eating well, but I will never resort to the bullying tactics of my father.)

(Houston, Texas has just been hit by Hurricane Harvey, the worst hurricane on record. Entire communities are gone, whole families are being discovered dead in their homes, and the whole city has been completely torn asunder. My store in New Jersey runs pet-based fundraisers several times a year, and our current group has generously told us to cut their fundraiser short in favor of collecting donations for hurricane relief. I’m ringing up a regular customer, who is always brusque, a tad misogynistic, and generally hard to deal with, a few days into the new fundraiser.)

Me: “Okay, and we’re currently collecting donations for Hurricane Har–”

Regular: *impatient and waving his hand in my face* “No, I have my own water problems.”

Me: *livid, but silent*

(Whatever his “water problems” were, I hope they got only worse!)

(I’m a veterinary technician, and at times I also cover the phones. I receive a phone call from a pet rescue group asking for information on the previous and current pets of a client who filled out a form to adopt a cat from their group. The client has given us permission to release any information.)

Me: “They’ve previously had two pets with us, and everything looks up to standards; they were up-to-date on vaccinations and neutered and spayed.”

(Usually just this is enough information.)

Woman: “So, they no longer have pets? Did they not take care of them? Did they give them away? Because, you know, I just want to make sure. This is a young couple.”

Me: “Um… They never missed an annual exam, they never refused vaccines or treatments, and it looks like their pets died of generic, age-related illness.”

Woman: “Hmph. I’m just not sure.”

Me: “Honestly, they are as perfect as clients as you can get. They even bought their flea, tick, and heartworm prevention directly from us and never lapsed in giving it, even in the winter. This cat will be going to a loving home.”

Woman: “Well, I think I’m going to deny their application. They just got married, so they’ll probably have a baby soon and then toss the cat out.”

(In hindsight, I should probably have asked for her name and reported her to her superiors. It was six years ago and it still upsets me!)

(When I am in high school, my mom and I live in an apartment complex for probably two years. One year we have a decent snow storm; it isn’t bad, but it leaves about three feet of snow around the car. Our shovel has broken, and since winter is almost over and we have little money, we had decided to take our chances and not buy a shovel. So, at ten am after the storm, I wake up and go out with the balcony broom — a broom we keep outside to sweep leaves and such off our little balcony — and try to unbury the car. I work for a good hour, and get about half the front cleared away, when a plow comes in to get what is left over. I don’t know if he doesn’t notice the high schooler with a broom trying to move the snow, doesn’t care, or doesn’t have any room not to, but he literally plows an entire parking lot of snow in front of the car and partially onto the hood. I stand and stare at the pile, defeated, and watch the plow drive off. I sigh and start trying to move the snow again, this time pushing it and literally digging with my hands, when a guy a few cars down notices.)

Guy: “Did that plow just push all that snow in front of your car?”

Me: “Yeah… unfortunately for me.”

Guy: “And you’re sweeping it?”

Me: “I don’t have a shovel; this was the only thing I thought might work.”

Guy: “How long have you been out here?”

Me: “Probably an hour; I started around ten.”

(He watches me sweep a little, and then runs to his car. I don’t pay attention to what he is doing, but a moment later I notice a shovel moving some snow.)

Guy: “I only have one shovel, but I’ll do what I can real quick; I’m a little early for work.”

(It’s been probably six years since this happened, but I still remember it. If you ever read this, thank you. I really appreciated the help, and I don’t know if you ever knew how much the little act meant to me. I hope you weren’t late, since you stayed and helped dig out most the car. I know I probably looked ridiculous and pathetic sweeping snow, but at least we both got a good story.)

(I work at the register at the pharmacy portion of a pharmacy chain.)

Customer: “So, what do you want to be when you grow up? A pharmacist?”

Me: *taken aback that my working at all isn’t good enough for her* “I’m not sure…”

Customer: “How old are you?”

Me: “23.”

Customer: *shakes her head* “The clock is ticking… Are you Catholic?”

Me: *eyes wide* “No. I’m not.”

Customer: “Well, if you were I would say for you to say ‘Holy Spirit, inspire me!’ And then you’d have your answer!” *takes prescription and leaves*

Me: *in utter state of disbelief*

Next Customer: “What the h*** was her problem?!”